


The Battle is Vanus's Idea

by ebsmith



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion, Elder Scrolls Online
Genre: An attempt at godhood in baby steps, Betrayal, Casual Kink, Dark! Vanus, Dubious Consent, Elder Scrolls Lore, Everyone thinks they're doing the right thing, M/M, Mages Guild, Mannimarco as himself, Necromancy, Necrophilia, Not Really Character Death, Order of the Black Worm (Elder Scrolls), Sort Of, The Great Battle, Undead litch husbands, Vanus is well preserved, Vanus needs a therapist, What dealing with endless human stupidity will do to you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:53:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 6,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21978388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ebsmith/pseuds/ebsmith
Summary: Because someone had to do it.A behind-the-scenes take on the events depicted in that epic lorebook "Mannimarco King of Worms", which first appeared in Oblivion.Btw I didn't make Vanus a pain slut. ESO did ;)
Relationships: Vanus Galerion/Mannimarco
Comments: 5
Kudos: 24





	1. Chapter 1

Vanus is sick of it. Of everything. He's all but left his guild - in mind if not in body.

His contrived hierarchy.  
His "Emeritus" title.  
His morass of politics and infighting.

He tells his assistant he’s going on vacation and doesn’t leave a forwarding address. He's sitting on a park bench somewhere in Alinor now, head in his hands. Metaphorically anyway. He is far too proud of his good posture to compromise it for anything, even existential depression.

They hadn't spoken in 100 years. Literally. Not since the Planemeld was averted. And that one day. Night. Whatever. And all the times before that of course. But that wasn’t really talking, was it? He wonders if their telepathic connection still worked after 400 years of neglect. He wonders if he would get an answer even if it did. He tries anyway. "I'm ready to listen," he says. And waits.

He hears the portal open behind him. He just continues to sit, arms crossed and head high. When Mannimarco wraps his arms around him from behind, he doesn’t even flinch. 'Good job,' he tells himself. When Mannimarco kisses him on the cheek, he only smiles a little.


	2. Chapter 2

Mannimarco talks and Vanus listens. For once, he supposes. Mannimarco tells him about Arkay's Curse. About his desire to free mortals from reliance on Daedric deals to gain power. About how his being a God will bring about that. How only he can do it. How it’s been his only goal since he learned the truth about himself from the Marukhati and later confirmed it during his time in the Order.

"You quote the Selectives of all people?" he scoffs, not able to stay silent at that. "The ones who broke Akatosh? Because they wanted a monkey-dragon for a God?"

"Dear Vanus, you know better," Mannimarco chides him. They're holding hands. Like they're on a date. Vanus figures they are. A promenade amongst the caves of some forgotten battleground, a dozen or so acolytes - and their undead horrors - hard at work exhuming the fallen for their purposes. Meticulous and focused. A well-oiled machine, its parts all acting as one for the common goal. Vanus is sickeningly jealous. He barely had a guild anymore. Mannimarco had an army. 

"Whatever their motive," he continues, oblivious to Vanus’s uncharitable thoughts, "the fact remains they succeeded in breaking the dragon. And the results of their act showed us the truth - Showed Me the truth. If only you would see." 

"See what? That you sacrificed millions of souls to Molag Bal for a theory that’s little more than a pipe dream!" His hand is suddenly squeezed hard enough to crush his fingers and he cries out despite himself. Mannimarco jerks him to a stop and pulls him around to face him, looking as angry as he had on their last night in Artaeum. 

"Do not insult me Vanus," he growls. "You understand sacrifice as well as I do. And you would do the same 1000 times over if your own 'principles' demanded it. And I dare say you Have." 

He glares at Mannimarco, his mouth open in righteous affront, but he has no words to say. Any protest would be a lie and Vanus has never lied to Mannimarco, not once. (He may not have been entirely truthful all the time, but he's never lied.)

He settles for scowling back at his “friend” before facing away with his nose in the air. He hears Mannimarco chuckle beside him and doesn’t soften one bit at the kiss to the corner of his mouth. Or the whisper against his ear. 

"How glad I am that you've finally done away with your false modesty. I would give every soul in Tamriel for it to never pollute your visage again.” 

“How about yours?” Vanus asks, still not looking at him. A kiss to the tip of that ear.

”I would, if my soul were still mine to give.” 

Vanus has to bite his tongue to keep from snapping at him. 'It is yours, you ass! Stop all this and it will be yours again! Being a God is overrated anyway.' But he promised he'd listen, ugh!

"An _Undead_ God? Are you actually serious?” He’s truly gotten soft in his old age, Vanus thinks of himself. A younger him would have lit Mannimarco on fire for saying something like that. 'Well you kinda did,' a small, traitorous part of his mind adds. Dammit. "Well go on then!" Vanus snaps aloud. 

Mannimarco’s mouth twitches. "Yes, as opposed to the Unliving Gods of the common man and mer, who can do nothing without mortal aid and are forever subject to their splitting whims. Not only will I be superior to them, it is necessary for my intent to work."

"What, no trying to assume Arkay himself?" Far be it from Vanus to give him any bright ideas...

"Ha! A fine idea Vanus. I would if I could. Unfortunately, he did far too good a job of defining himself. And seeing as our spheres are diametrically opposed, I shall just have to do my best. How's every Eight days sound?"

"Eight days to reverse all of natural law. How restrained of you."

Mannimarco rolls his eyes at him. “Arkay is no AKA. The only difference between him and I is he got there first. And besides dear Vanus, 'natural' is overrated."

Vanus refuses to dignify "that" with a response.

"So when's this going to happen then? Your "Ascension?" An arm around Vanus's shoulder now. Mannimarco hadn't stopped touching him since they'd gone off together. It was sweet. 

"As soon as possible dear Vanus. I only await the right opportunity." 

"And what opportunity is that?" Mannimarco is smiling openly at him now, so pleased at his attention. Show and tell. Just like old times. 'What is wrong with me?’ he doesn't ask himself. 

"A great slaughter Vanus. You’ve seen my armies. Hordes of willing thralls, all ready to pass their bound souls to me when the time is right. But they won't be enough. We need thousands, Vanus. Thousands to give everything they have to me. You know the equations. how much energy does one need to become a plane(t) of existence?"

"Pain makes it better," Vanus finds himself commenting, to his own mild horror. Long fingers dig into his arm and he shivers. 

"It does," Mannimarco agrees. "But not for too long or the effect reverses itself and you get even more waste than without it."

"Precisely applied agony. Why does this sound familiar?"

A lick to his earlobe that tickles unpleasantly. "I don’t know Vanus," he answers, his voice filled with mirth. A sharp nip that sends a rush down his spine. "You tell me.”

"I call it 'The Sands of Resolve," Mannimarco says proudly. It was beautiful, Vanus grudgingly admits. A cylindrical, triple-framed hourglass with a dense red gem centered within. Vanus holds it carefully in his hand.

"Your soul is in here?"

"Not yet" Mannimarco replies. "When the time is right." He looks at Vanus oddly then. "Give me your soul," he says plainly. "Your power is easily worth thousands of common men. Tens of thousands. Together we could ensure a victory over Death itself."

Vanus's eyes widen. 'Did he really just?-' he bursts out laughing. “Is that how necromancers propose?” he snarks, half in jest. To his shock though, Mannimarco scowls at him and then walks away. Oh gods. 

"Hahaha!!! No, wait- Marco!"

Vanus catches up a few moments later. They're out on the balcony of a decrepit old manor that serves as Mannimarco's home base now. It suits him to a tee doesn’t it, heh. His ersatz suitor glares at him but says nothing. 

'I really stepped in it didn’t I?' Vanus wonders for the 484th time why he's here. 'I need a good lay and he always puts out,' he concludes. What else could it possibly be at this point? 

“Why are you here,” Mannimarco asks, voice flat.

“I missed you,” Vanus says. Mannimarco just stares at him.

Dammit. "My life's work is in shambles and I want a good fuck to forget," Vanus elaborates. 

"Oh Vanus." And that soft look now on the other’s face is almost enough to make him blush. He hadn’t blushed in centuries, he was proud to say. 

"Your jadedness doesn’t suit you at all. And yet it seems to be fate that everything I love most about you is what makes us enemies."

And now he is blushing, dammit. Yet another achievement down the sewer. “I love you too Mannimarco,” Vanus concedes. ”But I cannot for the life of me figure out why.” 

The bastard only smirks at him. “I know why.” 

“Of course you do.” 

“It is because, dear Vanus, I am the only one who's good enough for you.” 

'He's right,' Vanus thinks.

Mannimarco makes good on that statement at least, taking him to bed and fucking him senseless. He's curled up against Mannimarco’s side now, idly prodding his still livid bruises with a purring sigh, sated beyond all Reason. His friend's skill with pain was truly unmatched...

“I won't ever kill you, you know,” Mannimarco whispers into his neck sometime later.

“Of course you would,” he yawns back, half-asleep.

“Nope” Mannimarco chirps. “I could have killed you a million times over. I could kill you now.”

Vanus feels a smug grin against his skin when he doesn’t even tense at that. 'So certain of himself isn't he?'

“Why not?” He asks. 

“Because I love you.” 

Vanus frowns. He wasn't the only one who'd gotten soft it seems. “Why do you love me?” A nuzzle to his hairline. Sweet. 

"Because you make me happy.” 

“That’s it?” He huffs. 

“Mmmm. I'm a God, Vanus. My pleasure is the only reason I need.” 

'Not yet you're not,' Vanus thinks automatically.

* * *

'Oh Vanus, what will I do with you,' Mannimarco muses later, when Vanus is once again passed out on his lap. 

Just take his Great Mage as a thrall and be done with it? No, no. He truly doesn’t want to kill Vanus, not like that. He wants Vanus to choose Life. To choose Him. To throw off his self-imposed chains and see things for what they really are. He traces the lash marks on Vanus's thighs and his lips curl in amusement when Vanus shifts into the pain, even while unconscious. Its childhood trauma, he supposes. What else would make such a wonderfully intelligent and unconventional mer so damn contrary to the Truth? 

It had taken an absurd amount of detective work to hunt down that miserable hamlet that Vanus’s "bilious Kinlord" reined over with an iron fist. As a Psijic, he could do nothing against that waste of existence, but as an exile? Hah! There was a reason why no one would ever find the remains of that holding on any map again. Unfortunately that sorry excuse for a noble was too weak-willed to stand up to his ministrations in order to extract the finer points of his dealings with Sigmus and Nindele of Sollicich-on-Ker, but the overall picture had presented itself enough.

'Oh Vanus, do you wish to apologize to your father? To say goodbye to your mother? I can arrange it, if you'd like.' He had been foolish to discount Vastarie’s research at the time, but once he had learned of her success - and dear Vanus’s over the top reaction to it, he had taken it upon himself to duplicate and improve upon her findings post-haste. 

Vanus snuffles in his sleep just then, his nose wrinkling at some invisible slight. Mannimarco sighs in disappointment. Not even his boundless optimism and faith in Himself could convince him that that's all it would take to repair Vanus’s broken mind. So what to do then? What to do...

* * *

“Here. A parting gift.”

Vanus frowns. “Your hourglass?” 

“No Vanus. Yours.” Vanus is speechless. Mannimarco smiles at him. “You know my secrets dear Vanus, All of them. Do you know how many spend their whole lives in worship at my feet, just for a hint of this privilege? The key to Life itself!” 

“As an undead monster.” 

“I hear it's not all bad. The pain, my most loyal have said, is Exquisite.” 

Vanus does his best to scoff at that, but Mannimarco's sharp eyes don’t miss the hint of a blush at those words. Or the way he stands that much prouder as the finely wrought platinum chain of the hourglass is fastened around his slim neck. Perfect.

* * *

“Oh how beautiful!” Nalia gushes when she catches Vanus in the guildhall after his return. 

“It is isn’t it?” Vanus sighs happily. She reaches for the hourglass. "Careful dear, it’s very delicate.” 

“Ooh, is that-” mesmerized by the blood red gem within. “Just a simple ruby,” he cuts her off. “Though quite a good likeness to the stone of the Red Diamond yes?” 

“Very nearly perfect! Where did you get it?” 

“Oh, some market stall in Hammerfell,” he lies. “One of a kind, they said. I do believe it might even be true!” She giggles at that and Vanus smiles at her. Not quite one of a kind, but close enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there's a line in "Galerion the Mystic" that seems to imply, to me at least, that Vanus *may be* partially responsible for his father being executed. And so by extension all the events after, which HAD to have an effect on his views about grave desecration. I mean seriously, Vastarie basically invented a forensic soul gem! You''d think he'd be rational about that. Unless he had something he Really wanted to hide... Poor bastard.


	3. Chapter 3

Vanus is under Mannimarco, legs wrapped tight around his back and wrists pined to the bed, thrashing beneath him. He sinks his teeth into that bared throat, pushes in deep, and Vanus’s whole body arches with the force of his struggle...

"Your soul is in here?" Vanus asks afterward, palming the identical hourglass now worn on Mannimarco's own neck.

"... Yes," he whispers. 

Vanus stares up at him, eyes wide and unreadable as he continues to clutch the glass in his closed fist. His heart races. An eternity later, Vanus tugs on the pendant, the chain around his neck pulling him down, and their lips meet once again.

"I have enough Vanus. Enough for both of us."

"You... do?" he asks. Mannimarco ignores the tremor in Vanus's voice.

"Yes. We will be weaker at the outset but it matters not. Once we are Complete, we can only gain in strength. And there is always Power to be had in the world." He turns Vanus by both shoulders to face him. "Leave them! Let them fester in their own rot as you so aptly put. We are so close Vanus!" He presses their foreheads together in earnest. "Stay with me, and even now my Anchorites will worship you as they do I."

Vanus's answer is to shove Mannimarco backwards onto his desk and fuck him until they both pass out. Vanus is gone when he wakes up. 

'He’ll be back,' Mannimarco assures himself as he tugs his clothes together and gingerly peels himself from the polished wooden surface. Whether a day, a month, or a century late, Vanus always found his way back to him.

* * *

Vanus is tired. He's old. Not the oldest mage ever, but definitely up there. And his resolve to stay alive is shrinking day by day. Will and functioning knowledge of magic's restorative abilities were what kept you in one piece past Arkay's clock. Indeed Arkay’s Will was stupid easy to subvert in a whole number of ways if one were so inclined. Why Mannimarco insisted on directly opposing it was something that Vanus just couldn’t understand. 

_'You should, dear Vanus. It’s the principle of the thing. Something you so love to cite on your own behalf.'_

I need to kill him already, Vanus thinks to himself yet again. But he doesn’t want to. He really doesn't. He just wants him to stop. Stop being so damn right all the time.

Mannimarco hears about Vanus's "March of Light" weeks before they arrive at his encampment. His Eremites look upon him, curious at his lack of concern. He only tells them to get ready for a Great Sacrifice. His closest smile in understanding, and he nods satisfied.

'So be it Vanus,' he thinks to himself. If it's a battle between Gods his Great Mage wants, then that is what he will get. He takes his hourglass in hand. Three days left, the sands say. 'I’ve already won.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The various lore documents concerning Phylacteries don't give much detail beyond "don't lose the damn thing until the process is complete," and that there is a component of "indescribable agony" to at least one method of getting there, so I'm hereby invoking creative license concerning the finer points of how Manni's variant actually works to turn you into a Litch.


	4. Chapter 4

Vanus stands before the great frozen valley where his scouts have informed him Mannimarco is now holed up. He feels like he’s walking into a trap. He goes anyway, along with his army of 1500 mages, knights, and disgustingly well-paid mercenaries. All ready to die for the Greater Good. 'For myself as well,' he muses while stroking his ever-present hourglass, his own soul now held within. He could always commit suicide after he defeats Mannimarco, he tells himself. You know what they say about killing monsters: you must become one yourself. Just a little.

The enemy soldiers die far too easily. Vanus is so disappointed in his fellows' gloating over the fallen, that they don’t realize what is really happening. Have they learned nothing from him? That they so easily die to feed Mannimarco and his undead with power? They also feed Vanus. They don’t realize that either. He tries not to think about that.

"Mannimarco himself has risen from the depths," they inform him soon enough. Vanus grins viciously in anticipation, and to his surprise, his own lieutenants are now shrinking away from him. Now that was novel! Vanus, for all his prowess and accomplishment, was not someone who people were inclined to fear. He used to think this was a good thing. Yet centuries of dealing with society had taught him what Mannimarco never could: that fear was as useful a tool as love was, and often more so. However, one did not fear Vanus Galerion. One loved him, or pitied him, or soothed him, or humored him, or schemed behind his back so as not to let him be aware of the goings on in his own Guild. ‘I must try out this newfound power at home,' he grins even bigger. 'It could really be something!'

Mannimarco is wearing red today, Vanus notes. How fitting. He strides out to the middle of the battlefield, death and dying on every side of him. His, Mannimarco’s, did it even matter at this point? He can feel himself transforming minute by minute, the souls of the dead giving themselves, their Power to him with every breath he takes. He wants to be disgusted. He wants to be horrified. He can’t. He isn’t. It feels glorious. He is determined to make it worth their while. “Surrender to me,” he calls out. “And live as befits the dead!” Ooh, that was a good one! 

“Haha!” a perfectly wretched voice laughs back. The red robed figure has Mannimarco’s crown and staff, but the voice doesn’t come from that direction. Vanus frowns, now wary. He had not been attacked at all so far, only his soldiers. He mostly expected that. A whisper in his ear has him frozen in surprise. “Always,” it breathes, before white-hot fire rains down on his position. 

“You bastard!” He screams in rage and exhilaration, throwing himself into the air to avoid the Meteor explosion that leaves a 20 ft. crater where he last stood, taking a dozen of his troops with it. Not fast enough. Oh well. He looks around him, Levitating in mid-air now, surveying the carnage for Mannimarco. He sights him not 100 feet away, that telltale silver-white hair fluttering beneath the hood of a plain black gown. Slick bastard. He grins as he gathers Magnus’s Fury in his hands.

"To think I ever doubted him!" Mannimarco couldn't be more proud if he tried. Oh Vanus has never looked more beautiful, still hovering in mid-air and raining death from above. On his hordes of Zombies - all former Guild mages. On his Skeletal Archers, their aim true to the flash and noise of what’s left of Vanus’s living legions, some now having taken to the air themselves in imitation of their fearless leader. On his Bone Colossi, who stand interlinked as shields around him and his Eremites, their bodies of earth and bone nearly impervious to Vanus’s favorite element.

This couldn’t be lost on him, could it? Mannimarco fancies himself that it isn’t. An enormous Fireball shoots straight toward him seemingly in answer and he commands his Colossus to ward itself. The fireball smashes into the magical barrier with a hollow roar, causing it to shudder violently. The fire spills out over the dome of his compartment, engulfing it completely, and for a few moments, all the air inside is burned away. Good thing he no longer needs to breathe hah! The small cluster of foot soldiers attempting to sneak around his great, yet admittedly slow moving Colossi are not so fortunate. The remainder of the blast washes out in a wave of superheated air that has them in ashes before they even know what hit them. Mannimarco didn’t see who threw that particular bomb at him, but he decides to think it was his Vanus, in spirit if not in action.


	5. Chapter 5

Nalia isn't as spry as she used to be, but her vision is still sharp and her aim still true, so when the Great Mage himself asks for volunteers to head into certain death to defeat the necromancer “Worm King” once and for all, she raises her hand without a moment’s hesitation. And so do dozens of her colleagues. Defeating the scourge of necromancy is all that matters. She ignores the rumors. Rumors of how Vanus Galerion isn’t what he used to be. How he’s all talk and no action. That his well-hidden incompetence has let the Worm King slip through their fingers all these years. She was there during the Planemeld. She has seen Vanus in action. She has known him for over 100 years now and her faith in him hasn’t wavered one bit.

The living enemy did not attack Vanus directly, Nalia notes. She’s not the only one. When during an ebb in the fighting, one of her peers haltingly alludes to those _other_ rumors about Vanus and why this might be, she rips him a new one. They didn’t need this, not now.

They had thought they were winning. They were wrong. The easy early victories had made them all cocky. Made them believe they were doing more damage than they really were, while being slowly worn down. They are set straight when a bloody and breathless scout appears in the War Room and informs them that Mannimarco himself has now appeared on the battlefield, along with what seemed like every abomination they had felled and then some. Vanus stands at that, his aura blooms and the air fills with a charge that stings the skin and makes her hair stand on end. He grins at them in a way that wouldn’t have looked out of place on Mehrunes Dagon himself, and she and her fellows are terrified and inspired all at once. 

Vanus takes to the air and rains fire and lightening from on high – and no longer seems concerned with who is caught in the blasts. Every second or third gout of flame or arc of plasma is friendly fire to anyone who isn’t paying quite enough attention. She wasn’t a little girl anymore. She knew how callous he could be, but this was something else entirely. Well at least they were properly winning now, what with Vanus’s enormous arcs and blasts vaporizing everything they hit into so much ash and dust. Dust not even the King of Worms could resurrect. The few present that Vanus had deigned to teach Psijic-style levitation had joined him in the air and the scene before her and her landlocked compatriots was something right out of an epic of old. She and her fellows are in awe, and her concerns are once again forgotten. 

Nalia was very lucky. Even invisible and resistance enchanted, she felt the heat from the Fireball that hit the fourth Colossus. If she had been even 20 feet closer, she would have ended up like her friends. She is in one of several parties attempting to divert those enormous traveling bone cages that protected the most powerful of the Worm King’s soldiers. They commanded their hoards from inside with impunity, nearly impervious to the elements being flung at them. A well placed rune popped them open like a poorly canned jar of pickles, but the trick was getting close enough to plant one without being seen - or roasted alive by "friendly fire" from above. 

She crushes another invisibility scroll, sprints towards the now temporarily undefended Colossus, and hopes this works. They didn’t have many of these left. She could cast it herself but doesn’t want to waste her magicka - she’s going to need all of it for the rune she needs to plant, and despite her success as a mage in other fields of magic, her Bosmer heritage hadn’t been kind to her in this. She gets out in front of the Colossus set to drop the rune in its path when she sees it, and all thoughts of her mission are wiped from her mind.

She is far closer than she intended. Close enough to see inside the bone cage to the “Litch” within. ‘Maybe it’s a title’ she thinks at first, of the incongruently handsome mer within. Handsome for an abomination of decency hell-bent on killing them all anyway. But when she sees the hourglass on a watch chain hanging from the mer’s waist, complete with a tiny red “ruby”, she just Knows. She just Knows it’s not a coincidence.

She has about 10 seconds of invisibility left and she’s in the perfect position to the direct left of the colossus. Vanus is about 50 yards in front of her and some 10 yards high. She could make this shot in her sleep. A market in Hammerfell he had said and laughed, bright and carefree. A silly souvenir. Nothing special at all. She cries even as she sends her poisoned arrow into Vanus’s heart and hopes, for the sake of all her friends still left alive, that she isn’t wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I am imagining the colossi as actual walking Bone Tanks. Because that needs to be a thing :D


	6. Chapter 6

  
Vanus falls from the sky like a piece of Aetherius itself. Mannimarco doesn’t know who fired that shot and he vowed to find out and gut them alive, but for now, there were more important things to do. He sunders his far too slow moving Colossus, it collapsing into itself as he makes his escape, casts invisibility on himself, and makes straight for Vanus’s fallen body. He needed to reach him Now. He might still-

BOOM! 

Yet another Fireball lands not a dozen yards in front of him and he grits his teeth as he suffers through it. Crossfire from some uppity mage still playing at flying around like a westerly out of some child’s school play. 

Contrary to what usually happened when the commander of a force was felled in plain sight, Vanus’s "death" has only spurned them on even more. Another Fireball and several gouts of Chain Lightening arc to his left and Mannimarco feels his Thralls and hoards ripped apart in droves. The ground is becoming a sea of fire that not even he could survive. And the risk to a still unrealized Vanus... he decides to cut his losses. A few hundred living was nothing to him, he could get that anywhere. He releases his command of the lesser servants and telepathically commands his Officers to do the same. ‘We retreat. Our work here is done’. They obey without question and Mannimarco is pleased. He had chosen well it seemed. 

He races through the smoke and ash of the battlefield, piles of gore all around him, to where he had seen Vanus fall. He circles the whole area and finds nothing. How! Vanus had fallen in the epicenter of the flash fire. Not even Mannimarco himself could get passed it! He only barely restrains himself from screaming in frustration – and giving himself away in the process. 'How could they have reached him so quickly?' He seethes. No matter, he would find him. Right now he had one final loose end to tie up. 

He sights what must be one of the last remaining leaders: a short man in violet robes, screaming orders to a crude formation of 20 mages hurling fire at a small ocean of untethered zombies. And who just happened to not be far from where one of his Deathlords had fallen. He will do nicely. The mildly defective Litch transformation was tall, imposing, and more than horrific enough to satisfy those naive idiots' imaginations for proof of the Worm King’s demise. This should settle things down nicely for a few centuries. Should make for a good story too. Hah, maybe even a bedtime tale! As they say: start them young for the most promise. He chuckles to himself as he throws his reversible cloak over the body with the bright red velvet side up. At that very moment, his third lieutenant would be reversing his own cloak to black side up in concealment and leaving his staff and crown somewhere plausible. They didn’t matter, he had many more.

Vanus’s death turns the tide of the battle, to everyone’s shock and grim relief. Seeing the Great Mage fall had broken whatever it was that held them back – or perhaps removed any remaining doubt over what the true purpose of this battle was. The mages above rained fire and flood down on the hoards with no more reservation and the ones on the ground ran into the holocaust without a second thought, taking out anything the fire from the sky left intact. 

“He sacrificed himself!” One had said when it was all over. “I saw a huge flash of lightening not a second before he fell! Maybe he used everything he had left in it!” 

“They found the Worm King's body not far from where he landed too,” another had said. 

“But wasn’t that awful staff found near the Flesh Atronachs?" A third questioned. 

“Who cares? Maybe it got flung far in the blast” the first now snipes back. 

And the few hundred left alive continued like this even as they gathered their dead and did their best to give them a proper burial. Every Lamp Knight was trained in the basic Rites of Arkay. It wasn’t as assured as a true priest was, but it was better than nothing. As it was, they had their work cut out for them. 

Vanus Galerion’s body gets special attention of course. He’s packed in arcane ice and encased in Glass melted down by a local forge. Though not before Nalia pockets that hourglass, still hanging from his neck. It buzzes in her grasp and she nearly starts crying again. She may have been right, but she couldn’t bear to shame him, even after all this. She would study the device in secret and hopefully find a way to let whatever was inside rest in peace. 

His body is sent back to Summerset for the funeral and internment. Despite Galerion’s well known hatred of necromancy and great concern for the dead, he had never actually specified how he wanted his own body to be taken care of. Not any of his friends knew either and he had no spouse or family to ask, so the Guild just defaulted to the traditional High Elf way.


	7. Chapter 7

'The viewing ceremony must have been glorious,' Mannimarco thinks of the sight that greets him in Auridon’s crypt of Auri-El several days later. Vanus is laid out as if he were simply asleep, neatly arranged within his casket of ice and Glass, perfectly preserved. His skin hadn’t even lost its color yet. Mannimarco is grudgingly impressed by whoever had thought to pack him this way. Their skill was wasted on that dammable Guild. He waves another portal into being and telekinetically hauls the casket in behind him. ‘Soon, my dear. Soon you will awake'.

No words can describe his rage when he melts the ice and finds the phylactery gone. 'Whoever has it will beg for death,' he vows. Meanwhile he has even more work to do now. Vanus would never be realized, he knows, but there were still options. Not ideal by any means, but there were options. He starts the process of preservation, using techniques he had gleaned from the masters of the art in every culture. Foremost of these being the Ancient Nords of all people. His and his acolytes’ studies had shown those barbarians to be amazingly advanced in the arts of necromancy, especially in regards to the preservation of the physical form. Of course, these rites were immensely time and energy consuming, being originally for use in the servants of the Dragons themselves. It was no hardship though. Only the best for his Great Mage. Only the best.

He retrieves Vanus’s soul from that foolish woman a few weeks later, after his contacts within what was left of the Mages Guild uncovered her existence. She breaks easily enough, so easily in fact, that he doesn’t even bother to reanimate her. He could easily do better and he was not hurting for servants in the least, even now.

A year and a day later Vanus's body is finally ready. Under the light of the full moons, he brings the hourglass forth and breaks it, releasing its soul to its new-old home. Vanus wakes up screaming and doesn’t stop for four days straight. Mannimarco listens to every single minute of it.

“Who killed me?” Vanus asks later. His voice had grown deeper now, more gravely. It was pleasant.

'Your girlfriend' Mannimarco almost says. Instead, he says, “One of your own. Some foolish Bosmer. Upon questioning, she admitted to having seen your phylactery for what it was."

“Of course she did.” Vanus says, but doesn’t elaborate further.

Mannimarco lets it go.

Vanus is subdued now. Quiet. Passive. Mannimarco hates it. He talks and Vanus listens, but now he doesn’t argue in self-righteous fury. Doesn’t spit venom from his small petal-like mouth. Doesn’t gloat in a tiny victory of words over Mannimarco's every slip of tongue. Sometimes he wonders if he has misjudged Vanus's resilience.

No. That wouldn't do at all. He'll come around. Eventually.


	8. Chapter 8

Vanus looks himself over in Mannimarco's full length silvered glass mirror. A three paneled floor to ceiling affair, one could view themselves from all angles. Mannimarco for one, likes what he sees very much. 'Not bad for a simple Thrall. Not bad at all.'

Vanus’s skin had tanned into smooth buttery leather, now only a few shades darker than before. His hair is still soft and plush and hardly any had fallen out. The skin of his fingers had retracted somewhat, leaving his awful bitten nails as long jagged talons, but every wrinkle on his hands is present, now tightened into tough sinewy cords. Vanus always did have strong hands. To Mannimarco’s amusement, Vanus actually looks less haggard overall, the skin of his face having lifted and tightened his many frown lines as it dried and fixed in place.

Vanus is even slimmer now. Mannimarco could see sharp hipbones and the slight corrugation of ribs through the clingy satin of his guild robes. He had seriously considered destroying them but in the end had redressed Vanus in them, considering that it might make his adjustment easier to have the familiar clothes.

His eyes are the most remarkable thing. Even those delicate membranes had stayed whole. Though Vanus's unusual white sclera had shifted to a gauzy translucent gray. 'Like dragonfly wings' thinks Mannimarco. Quite beautiful in its own right.

“What do you think?” He asks, stepping to Vanus's side. He doesn’t touch him. His nerves would still be on fire even now. His own had faded after a few months but the burn never really left. How fitting for his Vanus, who so loved pain.

"I’m dead." He replies flatly.

Mannimarco frowns at that. "Of course you are. As dead as I am at least." Vanus turns to face him at that, for some reason surprised. Though he supposes it was understandable: his and his latest Eremites' transformations being perfected, the changes to his own body had been largely minimal. Vanus’s pupils no longer react to stimuli, fixed and dilated as they are, but Mannimarco can imagine them shrinking in anger. "Yes, Vanus?"

To his disappointment, Vanus stays silent while looking Mannimarco himself over. 'Do you like what you see?' he wonders.

Vanus turns away from him and looks at them both in the mirror once again. He says nothing.

* * *

Vanus tries to kill him just the once. Mannimarco feels Vanus approach long before he feels the whisper of the blade against his skin. He allows it to sink in about an inch into the back of his neck, the blessed poison burning his empty veins as bad as his transformation had, before he takes command of his Thrall. ”Vanus,” he smiles as he turns around to face him, “you're awake". The blade pulls against his skin, held in place by Vanus's now frozen hand. Mannimarco lets it slice to make a point. His neck doesn’t bleed. The skin simply gapes open, exposing corded muscle and a hint of bone before knitting itself back together.

He takes Vanus's hand, lacing their fingers together as he tugs the blade from his grasp. He presses the tip to Vanus's own throat, who gasps as his poison bites him back. "Do you realize, Vanus? I did not plan it this way, but things work themselves out, yes? I Own You. Body-" he drags the knife to the collar of those ridiculous over laced Guild robes "-and Soul.” He slices through the first lace on the robes. Vanus's eyes widen and Mannimarco grins as he cuts another. And another. He slices the laces all the way to the waist. If Vanus could still blush he would be, Mannimarco thinks happily. "Kiss me Vanus,” he commands aloud for effect. And Vanus does, glaring at him as he steps forward to press their mouths together.

His skin is cool and firm. His lips give under his own almost sponge-like. He must study the matrix formation of the mucus membranes some more, he thinks, fascinated. He pulls Vanus in close, kissing him harder, before turning them both around to push Vanus up onto his desk behind them. Vanus flat on his back now, stiff with command, Mannimarco cuts the remaining laces down his front and pulls his robes apart. He smiles down at Vanus's heaving chest. He still breathed out of habit but Mannimarco says nothing, enjoying the rattling sounds of his exhalation. "Dear Vanus, I believe you are my greatest work yet.”

Mannimarco has him on the desk twice, taking his time, slow and through, the way he could never get Vanus to agree to without a fight. He revels in his control, positioning him this way and that, stroking one moment and biting the next. He's gentle at first but is soon using him as hard as he did in life as Vanus's undead body proves to be just as tough as his living one had been. He releases his hold on Vanus's speech and his gasps and wails meet him full force and this may be the best sex they've ever had, he thinks as he pulls them both off together. Vanus now limp as a doll, Mannimarco carries him back to his sarcophagus and has him again.

After they've finished, he dares to give Vanus his autonomy back and is beside himself with joy when his reluctant Thrall only presses in close.


	9. Chapter 9

Vanus is seated at Mannimarcos spacious dressing table, hands folded on his lap. He’s still wearing his cut open Guild robes, because that’s what Mannimarco wants, and now that’s what he gets. They drape open around his bare legs, exposing his peach colored half-slip and naked torso. Mannimarco stands behind him, running his brush through Vanus's soft white locks over and over, not pulling even once, and looking as content as Vanus has ever seen him. He snorts at the picture they make.

“Hmm?” Mannimarco questions mildly.

"You. You are even more depraved than I imagined." 

“And how depraved is that?” Mannimarco smiles, tucking a few strands behind Vanus's ear while looking very pleased with himself. 

“Offending the Gods is one thing, but actual Necrophilia? It’s almost cliché.” The brush stops moving and Vanus thinks for a moment that he's overstepped. He meets Mannimarco's eyes in the mirror, but his "Master" only looks thoughtfully back- "humph" -before chuckling to himself and continuing to brush Vanus's hair in long slow pulls. Vanus decides to enjoy it. It’s not as if he has a choice.

"You should realize by now Vanus, you are my exception to almost everything. Now, Come with me." 

Vanus stands, his open robes flaring out around him as he walks behind the other to his sarcophagus: an immense white marble box carved in a vaguely Ancient Nordic way, for his preservation ritual, Mannimarco had said, and inlaid with all manner of precious things. Vanus considers that he'd like to have been buried in something similar for good. ‘You really do know me far too well,’ he thinks with something like fondness. 

“I have business in Cyrodiil City for a few months, so don’t wait up for me yes?” Mannimarco states as he takes Vanus's hand, leading him to lie down inside. 

“Hmm. Do I have a choice?” He asks, settling in. 

"No dear Vanus,” Mannimarco grins at him, “you do not." After one last peck on the lips and a slightly fussy arrangement of his hair, the lid closes on Vanus, sealing him in darkness. 

He had grown to like it in here, once he had gotten over his terror of being buried "alive" of course. It's quiet. And peaceful. Just the way a grave should be, he thinks. He decides to sleep after all. The dead shouldn’t have so much to think about.

Besides, he slept so easily now. If only he could have slept so easily in life.


End file.
